


Do You Believe in Demons?

by LittleJowo



Series: Richard Wolfe: Demon Detective! [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (i guess), Alternate Ending, Breaking and Entering, Brief Language, Brief Mind Control (sort of), Clowns, Creative Writing Assignment, Detective Wannabe, Finding a Body, Heavily Implied Murder of Children and Families, Mind the Tags, Possibly Illegal Activity, Some Humor, part of a bigger story, the ocean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 23:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10320473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleJowo/pseuds/LittleJowo
Summary: Richard Wolfe, a wannabe detective, is asked to investigate an old shack. Rumors say it was once inhabited by a crazy "killer clown"...But that's bullshit.[Alternate Ending/Non-Canon]





	

He stood outside of the abandoned shack, watching the waves as they licked the sand on the beach. The shoddy house was placed atop a rocky cliff, from which Richard tossed down his half-smoked cigarette, still lit. He watched it fall. He didn't see where it landed, nor did he much care.

He turned his back from the edge with a smirk, walking onto the first step leading up to the porch. He knocked on the door, causing the whole place to rattle and shake. It was obvious there would be no answer, but he thought it'd be funny to pretend someone would be home.

Richard had a hard time deciding whether it was a good idea to enter such an unstable building. It was obviously rather old, and there were nails sticking out of the support beams visible through the single cracked window. The paint was chipped in many places, to the point where almost all of the damp wood was visible, causing the shack to resemble more of a large outhouse. It barely had a roof left.

Eventually, figuring that there was nothing to fall on him if the place _did_ break down, Richard kicked the door wide open, the knob banging into the wall. It wasn't really necessary, but he was known for his dramatic entrances.

He looked around as he took a few steps inside, searching for clues. When he didn't immediately see anything interesting, Richard let out an annoyed groan.

There were rumors around the neighborhood that the shack that looked over the edge of the cliff was once inhabited by a serial killer who dressed like a clown. He killed many small children and their parents in the 1950s, but one day he'd simply disappeared. He supposedly fell off the cliff. While the killer had been very real, it was uncertain whether he had really lived in the rundown shack, or if he was actually dead. Richard didn't think the clown had ever lived here. If he did, nobody would have ever known, or he would have been caught. But that's why Richard was there; he was asked by a friend at school to investigate.

So investigate he did. He searched the first room, possibly an office or study, finding nothing but some old books, a globe and map, and plenty of dusty cobwebs. At one point he found a wasp's nest on the mildewed floor as well, but all of the insects were dead around it, bodies twisted and wings torn. Richard picked one up to check it out, but he cursed and threw it back down when he learned that even a dead wasp can sting.

Seeing nothing of interest in the room, he moved elsewhere. Going through an empty doorway, Richard found himself in what seemed to be a living room. It held an odd smell, something that reminded Richard of the time he spent a few hours playing in a sewage pipe as a kid. He almost wondered if maybe the pipe somehow led into this room.

He walked around with slow but determined steps. The room had plenty of things for him to check out, and he was eager to dig around. The first thing he noticed was the large couch in the middle of the room. It was a disgusting shade of maroon, and it was so torn that it would be painful to sit on. Mounds of off-white fluff were scattered over the seats. Upon closer inspection, Richard could see stains covering most of the ripped furniture. It was hard to tell if the stains were red or clear, for all they did was slightly darken the cushions of the couch. Richard took a sniff, recoiling when he discovered that it was stale urine. Stupid animals.

Moving on, he made his way over to a table that sat under the frame of a fogged window. On top of it were all sorts of antiques. Some of them looked valuable; Richard decided that after his search, he may have to pawn some of them off. But, as of that moment, they were evidence. You can't tamper with evidence.

Against his own advice, he then picked each item up, examining them carefully. At first, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. That is, until he picked up what seemed to be the arm of a wooden doll. He dropped it with a shout, shuddering and moving as far away as he could from the offending object. He could check back to that table later.

Richard decided to take a gander at the coffee table instead. It was mostly made of wood, but the top was almost entirely glass. There wasn't much on top of it. Instead, what caught his eye was what was hidden under the glass.

He broke the glass with little hesitation, stomping on it with his shoe. He didn't actually need to do that; he just thought it'd look cool. He regretted it when a shard of it tore his jeans, but fortunately it missed the skin underneath.

He bent down, moving aside some old Playboy magazines to uncover a small box. It looked like a treasure chest, only far less fancy. It was about as large as his head, and was a little heavy. It was thick and made of wood. It had no patterns or locks on it, and it looked incredibly boring. However, Richard knew better than to _not_ take a peek inside. He opened it, and almost dropped it when he saw what the box held.

Inside was an arm. Unlike the doll's, this one was very much real. It had decayed over many years, and not much was left besides the brittle bones and some rotten flesh between the fingers. It was very small, and Richard knew it had belonged to a child. He'd seen corpses and other disturbing things during previous investigations, but this was by far the saddest and most unnerving one yet.

Underneath it was a photo, labelled "Clarice" in a messy cursive font. It was obviously very old, and somewhat yellowed, but it was clear what the picture was.

Sick to his stomach, he reached in and grabbed the picture with the tips of his index finger and thumb. He took great care in not touching anything else. He slowly lifted it out of the box.

The picture was of a young girl. She must not have been older than seven years old. She was sitting on the couch that Richard was currently squatting next to. Her dark hair was cut in a bob, and her chocolaty eyes were framed by incredibly long lashes. she wore a dress that looked like one his sister would wear during the holidays. Her hands were held neatly in her lap, and her posture was quite calm and ladylike. However, her face revealed a terror that was barely concealed. Her legs were soaked.

Next to her was a clown. He was incredibly thin, his limbs looking grotesquely long despite his average height. Atop his head was a mass of red curls, as well as a birthday hat. His green eyes contrasted starkly with his pale skin and teardrop makeup. He had a fake red nose and a wicked smile. He was waving at the camera with one hand, while his other held a butter knife. He looked like he was having a great time.

It was Claude the Killer Clown.

Looking around, Richard was able to see small boxes very similar to this one scattered around the room. They filled shelves and other flat surfaces, almost like trophies put on display.

Deciding that this was evidence enough, Richard closed the box and made to rush out the door. He opened it forcefully, nearly pulling it off its hinges in his hurry to leave. 

But, before he could take one step out, he was pulled back by some unseen force. He yelled out, only for his voice to be cut off by the slam of the door.

Once again inside, he thrashed around, trying his hardest to escape. He knew that the killer must have hold of him. He dropped the box and attempted to throw a punch at whoever was behind him, but failed to hit a thing.

Richard was then forcefully turned around, and he found that it had become incredibly difficult to move. But, when he saw what was now in front of him, he did whatever he could to leave. He was horrified to find that even the tips of his fingers could barely wiggle.

Claude the Clown stalked towards him, grinning from ear to ear. His face looked as if it were about to tear in half. He hadn't aged a day since his killing spree had supposedly ended. The only differences were in the sharpness of his jagged teeth, the length of his limbs and digits. His hair looked to be styled into a parody of a devil's horns. On any other clown it would have looked silly, but definitely not on this one.

He was soon standing right in front of Richard, who was still frozen in fear. Claude was shorter than Richard, yet the way he looked down his plump nose at him suggested otherwise. The killer looked him up and down, as if sizing him up. The smile never left his face. 

Then, Claude was somehow lifted off his feet, and was suspended in midair. Richard could then see that he had a tail, made entirely of bone. The tip was as sharp as a blade. The appendage curled around Richard's face as the clown grew closer, as if caressing him. Richard whimpered, hoping that Claude would make this quick. This elicited a harsh-sounding laugh from the clown. It sounded much like grating metal, only somehow sweet. Then, with a voice equally as sugary, the killer spoke.

"Now, what are you doing in a place like this, pal?"

Richard couldn't find it in him to respond. He tried once again to get away, but he still could not move. Claude didn't seem to mind his lack of an answer, though.

"Well, whatever the case, you're _far_ too young to be an old friend of mine," the clown thought aloud with a childish pout, then grinned once again, showing off all those razors in this mouth, "Perhaps you have a younger sibling?"

Claude caught a fist to the face, startling him enough that he fell straight to the ground. He landed on his back, screeching like a feral cat.

Richard, who had finally found the courage to move, turned around and ran right out of the old shack. He didn't even look back as he heard the splintering wood and harsh screaming behind him. He just kept running, down the road, down through the grass, all the way back to his neighborhood. It felt as if it had only taken seconds to get there, but he'd run nonstop for miles. He must have run for at least an hour.

Only when he reached his street did he stop, looking behind him. The road was dark and empty. Letting out a sigh of relief, he walked into his house. He made a mental note to scold his sister later for leaving it unlocked. Not that he'd much minded before.

He made it to his room and flopped onto his bed, bouncing lightly as he did. He lay still for a time, listening for manic laughter or screeching cats or creepy music, or really anything that would let Richard know the killer was coming. Like in the movies.

He let out a huff of a laugh and derailed that train of thought. He couldn't believe he was taking this so seriously. He must have been imagining things. It was probably that creepy doll hand that set him on edge. He just panicked, is all. Yeah.

Despite his reasoning, Richard did not sleep for a long while. He couldn't stop thinking about what he'd seen. Could Claude the Killer Clown really still be alive? It shouldn't be possible. He was dead. He fell in the ocean or something. And why would he stay in such a place? It was too risky, and he was too smart for that. He probably never even lived there. He would have been caught at  _some_ point. As for the picture and arm...Again. He panicked. He never actually saw that. He was having freaky doll delusions.

Eventually he found it in himself to calm down. There was absolutely no way any of that had really happened. He'd been psyched out by the doll, and he started imagining the worst. Even if the killer were somehow still alive, he wouldn't have been so young. He'd be in at least his seventies.

With that all cleared up, Richard got settled to get to sleep. He got up and changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, fluffed his pillow. He then turned off his light and crawled beneath the covers.

About an hour after he got in bed, he was fast asleep. He snored lightly, dreaming of beating up monsters made of slimy green goo. He woke up groggily, though, when he heard his bedroom door squeak open, light footsteps padding into his room.

"Cody," he groaned and rolled over, annoyed at the intrusion, "What do you want? It's _way_ past your bedtime." 

But it was not his sister's voice that answered him. 

"Now, is that any way to treat an old friend, pally pal?" 

**Author's Note:**

> I really like this "Claude" guy, he seems pretty neat. He's not REALLY as bad as he sounds. Really!
> 
> I hope you guy enjoyed this. Let me know what you think!


End file.
